Set Fire to the Stars
by sian22
Summary: Theomund of Ithilien has spent his life caging his heart, building a strong defense against rejection and the oceans that swell within. Thalon, Legolas' second-in-command, has seen Ages more, yet he too has resigned himself to be alone. One day, fate brings them together. What the fea wants cannot be denied, but sometimes courage is a difficult thing to muster. FINALLY UPDATED!
1. Chapter 1

How did I know? It was his hands.

Soft and sure, so exquisitely gentle even as they without ceremony administered the antidote as one would a gwinig. I should have been embarrassed perhaps..sensitive to a foreign touch but I was not. Pain was a white hot brand and all was dark and in the darkness the only light was the soothing of that touch.

I was dying.

I knew it even as the first of the seizures took hold: I lying, still and silent in my prince's arms. Each pound of hoof on turf was white hot agony. My heart cried out in anguish. We had waded through so much blood, so many battles, that to fall now to a haphazard skirmish in Morgul duin: it seemed cruel. I had stayed. Though Amron had fallen, I had stayed. For my brother-in-law and for my father-King, for the people I considered my own though I was not one of them, Noldo as I am.

Now, prisoner of a failing body, my sight dimmed. The pain lanced each time a seizure gripped. In time there was no sound, no sight. Legolas' anxious voice had been before, pleading with me to stay. Now there was only darkness and that touch.

Perhaps I screamed. I must have when the wound was cleaned: the sticky ichor of the poison dragged out and a salve without ceremony shoved into the wound.

But again there came that touch. A fea so beautiful, so gentle and golden it was a treasure. How sad to know it here when all was darkening. Millenia I had been alone, my mate lost and never expecting to know that joy again, or desire or true touch.

Perhaps at the end this was a boon. I would know such beauty all too briefly before I walked Namo's halls.

At last the hazy pain took me down.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke, stiff and pained, with a sense of utter unreality. The world came back again.

Beyond my eyelids there seemed to be light and under my fingers there was soft cool cloth. The air felt soft and warm and the sound of birds, quiet footsteps came dimly to my ears. The smell of spring was strong…

This was far from the quiet, hushed sense of reverence I had expected of the Halls of Waiting. If I did not know better I would have said the space also smelled faintly of the woody bitterness of willow bark. Of mint and athelas and vervain. Of the healing hall come to think of it.

If this was hallucination and I was truly dead it was so distinct as not to really matter. _Just lie Thalon, let yourself just be._

But it seemed, when pressed, I could not even listen to myself. An urgent need to open my eyes rose up. I tried but the lids felt glued, t _hey_ would not obey but something must have moved.

"Commander!" The elleth's voice from just beyond my feet was soft but bright with hope and clear surprise. "Mistress..I think he is awake!"

Another pair of light soft steps were clear and gentle fingers touched my own. "Este..…."

A blessed cool, wet compress was dabbed at the corners of my eyes. The crust loosened with my blinking and thin lattice walls, green ones, not white marble covered in tapestry, came hazily into view. It was Ithilien, my Prince's green and fragrant realm, and I was imagining I was alive and for the moment grateful beyond words.

Of course I had not yet tried to move. That effort, just to raise my head for a slightly better view, proved that my miraculous consciousness was entirely a mixed blessing.

Saralinde's soothing voice, the dulcet, unflappable and calming tones of the Hall's Master healer, came near at my awkward squawk. "Have you much pain, mellon nin?"

Oh I did, yet somehow I could not get speech out, my reluctant mouth would not form the required shape for words.

She must have spied my restless painful shifting for something cool and wet, a reed was pressed to my lips. "Just a little now."

Lemon and honey did not quite hide the bitterness of poppy. I grimaced but soon enough time stretched and the clawing teeth of hurt slunk away to find another victim.

* * *

"Awake again?"

Warm and definitely alive fingers lifted my wrist to check my pulse. Blinking groggily at Master Saralinde's heart-shaped face I decided that if this was the same hallucination _twice_ in a single day it was was yet likely I was still bound to Middle-Earth. _Valar be praised._

This time I managed to croak out a semblance of a sentence as the light swam queasily around the edges of indistinct but blunted pain.

"Commander Thalon..it has been three days."

 _Oh._

While I lay and tried not to worry the loss of time the Master and her assistant busied themselves with dressings and cloths and wonderfully warm water (my skin _hurt_ but felt itchy also with grime and time. It was good to be somewhat clean again). It seemed ungrateful to ask where the _other_ healer was while being tended with such gentle care so I left my most urgent question to wait a bit. My difficulty speaking made such a complex sentence pointless anyway and more to the point I did not know his name to ask.

I lay and let them fuss and racked my fuzzy brain to think of _who_. For certain it had been a he…that beautiful fea was male. There had been an evening in the hall, some months back, a new denizen of the groves introduced, but I had taken out a new patrol to the Crossings and missed the formal welcome. What that who it was? A new healer for the Hall?

So much concentration began to hurt. Frustrated, I lay back and heaved a sigh, bit back a noise when fingers probed the tender space around the mound.

"Mistress.?" I did not know what the question was but knew it had been asked. Saralinde nodded to her assistant who scurried out.

The Master Healer smiled and bent again to her task. "You will forgive us Commander for taking things a little slow. We are a little in uncertain territory."

 _Just what did she mean by that?_ Clearly she sensed my frustration, took it for a warrior's impatience with restriction. In another time and place she would not be have been far wrong.

The young elleth was not gone long before I heard another pair of footsteps and the lattice door swung smoothly open.

Tall, disgustingly vital, unusually anxious, Legolas, my Lord and Prince, strode hurriedly into the room.

He looked… disheveled. As if he had slept in his braids and not redone them. As if the heavy bags under his eyes could have hidden half a flett. His belt was notched a hole too loose and his tunic tie mis-threaded. My usually immaculate honour-brother looked worried and thrilled and hesitant all at once, as if holding a precious treasure that had been glued but a moment before.

So wrapped up was I in my need to _know_ I had not thought of him until that very moment. I felt chagrined. My tendency to joke at the most inappropriate moments came to the fore.

"I am relieved, toren, that you changed your tunic."

The last thing I remembered clearly was spewing bile across his lap.

The slate grey eyes I knew so well flicked to Saralinde, asked permission before I was engulfed in an excruciatingly careful hug.

"Thalon, thank the Valar you are the most stubborn ellon I know. This is the second time you have cheated Namo of your company."

I tried to grin. "I hate the idea of making small talk with a few thousand other souls."

"I thought you might." He chuckled and so did I, though mine was faint and garbled. "Elrond's training does not stick with some."

 _Nienna what a relief._ We were joking even if the tone was over bright. Taken by a recklessly overwhelming urge to raise my hand, to clasp his forearm and give my heartfelt thanks, I found my heart had suddenly blocked my throat.

Centuries of brotherhood and I still found it hard to express the true depth of our bond. Legolas, far more adept than I with words in any language, settled for simply grinning broadly at my awkward snort.

 _Oh thank you._

My eyes were irritated. They watered my cheeks a little while he pulled up a chair beside the bed.

For the next half candlemark he filled me in on the details I had missed. The hours of terrified uncertainty. The repeated desperate dosing of the antidote. The two days of stricken wondering if I would, if I could, come to myself again or simply fade away.

"Theo was just magnificent, Thalon. So calm even as he worked so fast." he said, sharing an approving glance with Saralinde. "I am still amazed that he could discern the poison from just a smell."

"His nose is certainly large enough." The Master Healer's green eyes danced in mischief but I ignored them for my heart had suddenly fluttered wildly in my chest. My Prince had said it. That name. I had heard it in my delirium but now I knew.

"Ernilen, was Master Theomund at table?" Saralinde paused in her jotting of a note upon a handy parchment. I had noticed that she seemed to be writing an awful lot. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little like a curious specimen.

"Yes he was. " Legolas answered. "For a little while. He left just before your message came."

She rose and beckoned to a young assistant outside the door. "Keilin would you please let Master Theomund know his patient is awake…" The young elleth bobbed her head and hastened on her errand.

After a few more moments of carefully light-hearted, non-taxing chat and a certain amount of distracted watching of the door on my part, I began to wonder what Legolas was making of my mental state. We were having a rather one-sided conversation. It felt rude but I simply _had_ to know, had to see my ellon of the beautiful fea the instant he came through the door.

I _had_ nearly died, so hopefully I was allowed to be a little pre-occupied with present life.

Distracted, I had not noticed that suddenly Legolas was rising, turning to greet someone all in blue: not the drab grey healer's robes of Mirkwood but the dark indigo favoured by those of Rivendell. He walked slowly, almost haltingly, toward my Prince and bent his head to touch his heart in greeting.

I caught my first clear glimpse of my saviour and was, in short, confused.

Though I had lived in Mirkwood for long and long I still thought I should know all who worked in the last Homely house: it had been my home for much of my three hundred centuries (my naneth still lived in the vale and I journeyed back to see her as often as my duties would permit) but still I did not recognize him.

Tall and lithe, with a fineness to his features that was almost Silvan, his nose as advertised was aquiline and almost Numenorean in scale, just a little too large for outright beauty. Master Healer Theomund was striking, even handsome, with an easy charm, an assurance in the space that was comforting but not overbearing. His hair, the pure wheat-gold of the house of Finarfin, was tied back in a single plait down his back in the style favoured by the Peredhel. There was a seriousness to his blue-grey eyes that seemed warranted given his occupation and yet there was something of the lines about his mouth and brow that spoke of humour.

I could not tear my gaze away.

He was, quite simply, stunning.

Reminding myself to close my mouth, I watched as he stood, just beyond my Prince, speaking quietly with Saralinde, resting a hand upon her shoulder and looking her notes. I could not put my finger on it but there was something distinct, different, about how he stood. The healer moved almost a little stiffly, with a subtle hesitation and as I (quite rudely) stared it seemed he looked a little different in his carriage too. Broader through the shoulders. I wondered for a moment if he was Sindar but his hair was not so sillky fine as Thranduil's, was even wavy where a long tendril had escaped the braid.

Perhaps he felt my steady gaze or perhaps he was simply finished his consult. but before I could ponder more Theomund had looked up, taken a slow and measured step toward the bed, and quite unconsciously raised a hand to tuck the errant strand back behind his ear.

It was then I saw.

He was a man.


	3. Chapter 3

How did I know?

I did not at first of course.

Unlike Thalon I had no reference point. I was, as always in the world, an island unto myself. I had never had a beloved. Never been kissed, not in _that_ way, and though I did not lack in affection from my wide and wonderful family, I had nothing to compare the feeling with. It was simply a profoundly strong sense of caring and _needing_ to see him whole. I took it for my vocation and nothing else.

Until I touched his face.

Saralinde and I worried greatly for Thalon's recovery. We were, to borrow Uncle's Imri's metaphor, in wholly uncharted waters. No elf or man to our knowledge had ever survived such poison with the antidote come so late: it had been the worst of luck. The troop was far afield when the first of the seizures hit, and so, in utter desperation, I had dosed him three times with the strongest antidote I knew. In the moment I was more furious to lose someone so needlessly than particularly concerned about the aftermath. His hröa was _here_. And breathing, praise Este. But it was one thing to survive, quite another to survive _unharmed_ and so we took things a little carefully.

The wound itself, an ugly, long shallow gash across his ribs, was knitting well, as were the sphaleritic bruises that bloomed across his chest, but his speech was slurred and slow, muscles cramped and as Saralinde noted, he had when pressed admitted to a lingering queasiness. Other, perhaps more deleterious affects could be more subtle and although the Commander had not faded, ( due, I judged, to the strength and support of his Prince) I assessed him carefully. Judged day by day the slow progress. Unobtrusively. Hoping to not worry him too very much.

That morning, the third since his awakening, I settled myself upon my rolling stool as usual (my one concession in the Healing Hall to conserving energy), took up my finest stitching needle and bid him close his eyes.

Thalon frowned. He had just breakfasted with Keilin's help, laid back down again when the fatigue proved to be too much. He looked uncertain, perhaps anxious at what I was to do and so I laid a calming hand upon his shoulder. "Peace, Commander. I promise I will not hurt you. I wish only to test your response to touch."

A faint tremor rippled through his limbs. "Thalon. My name is Thalon." Surprised, and oddly pleased to be so asked, I nodded, relieved hear a bit more timbre to his voice. It was beautiful, rich and deep, although the syllables were blurred as if his tongue would not entirely obey. "Very well then, Thalon. In light of the seizures you experienced, I hope to gauge if there is lingering damage to your nerves." I was always honest with my patients as far as caution would allow. Thalon was a warrior, no stranger to battle hurts, and so I judged he would not take it ill.

He nodded cautiously.

I took a breath, reached to pull the blanket and sheet a little lower down and began my examination in standard fashion. The bandage on his wound was freshly changed, the torso's bruising at that peak of lurid multicolour that portends the start of tissues absorbing the leaked blood back in. All good. I ran my hands lightly along his arms, feeling for undue heat, testing gently as I could the stiffness of his muscles—the spasms in a human left them pained for days. They were tight as I expected, cramped, although he did not flinch: only the faintest flaring of his nostrils gave away that my ministrations brought discomfort and so I pressed on.

Through the first minutes of the examination I had leisure to review my patient's more superficial features. Hair of black silk cut to a warrior's elbow length. A narrow face that was strong and chiseled, with a straight elegant nose and sensual full lips. Eyes of the most unusual light grey, barely coloured below broad arched brows and a fringe of deep sable lash.

Amidst the fair and tawny Sylvan folk of Eryn Ithilien, Thalon stood out as a lebethron amidst a stand of golden oak: narrow yet finely muscled, dark and watchful, not as tall as the Prince nor with his Sindarin beauty but striking in the way some Noldor are: as if they hold something of the shining stars from another time.

I found I had to force myself to concentrate.

I rolled down to the foot of the bed, folded back the covers again, finding his leg muscles as tight as the ones above: they pained him, intensely, for this time he could not hold back a grimace.

"I feel like Legolas rode me back," he grumbled, before blushing a most spectacular shade of red. "I meant, I…"

"I know what you meant," I answered smoothly for it was far from the most unfortunate declaration a patient had ever made. "Your muscles have been abused by misdirections from your brain. They will be sore for some days yet." I rested a hand lightly upon his foot. "Commander—Thalon, may I begin the test?"

The placid gaze that had followed me down snapped up to my face. "What will you do?"

I quickly spoke to reassure. "Touch very, very lightly your skin at various spots from heel to head, while you close your eyes. You must speak when you note the touch."

This seemed sufficient. The hand that had grasped the sheet across his midriff relaxed and Thalon nodded, consciously settling his limbs. "I will."

And so it began. I touched the needle to his feet and heels and ankles, relieved to hear his quick response. Good. Very good. Damage to the body's nerves can manifest as both proximal and distal (as I knew all too well) and sensitivity to touch or temperature was the first sign of serious deficit. Legs and knees were normal but when I brushed the steel just faintly against his left hand fingertips no quiet voice spoke up.

"Thalon?"

"Master?"

Ah. Not adrift in sleep. Unhappy to be found correct, I continued on, knowing on balance this could resolve. His right side proved unaffected—this was not a surprise for damage often followed a single major nerve—and so I followed up the left side, to his bicep and his neck, hesitating only near to his cheek.

Of a sudden it felt—too intimate.

"Master?"

My extended silence had inadvertently worried him.

"All is well," I replied, trying to calm a sudden racing of my heart. _Theo, do not be ridiculous_. I had touched many, many patients in my time, in far more personal locations, and never once felt disturbed. Perhaps the days of taxing work were catching up? Making me lose focus. Setting flights of fancy in my brain.

Shaking off the unsettling feeling, I touched the steel to the pale skin just before his ear. He jerked. Reflexively. Threw his right hand up and gripped my own. "That tickles!"

The motion sent a jolt of awareness flooding through.

 _Throbbing pain. And anxiousness. And a well of deep amusement._

 _Este!?_ How could this be? It was not mind speech, not the Hurin gift I shared with my sister Fin. That had come upon me with adolescence, slowly, imperceptibly, a skill I had mastered long ago and did not abuse. For a healer to dip into his patient's thoughts unawares was a violation, saved only for cases of extreme distress or mortal ill. Elladan had taught me this along with physiology and herb lore. It was second nature.

This experience was different. A sudden flash, as if a door had opened up.

I shook my head to clear it and found those striking eyes upon me once again. Was he unaware? It seemed so. Thalon sat, curious but accepting, a little wary, as if gauging what should come next. I set the needle aside and awkwardly cleared my throat. "Commander, you do appear to have some nerve damage on your left side but it is restricted, solely to your arm and that is most encouraging."

"To the Ernil perhaps,' he quipped, and my mouth twitched into father's wry half-quirk. The friendly rivalry between Prince Legolas and his chief lieutenant took many forms. Archery. Knife sparing. Even arm wrestling when Ithilien's damp winter kept us cooped up inside.

Any hint of an advantage would be used to its utmost.

"As your healer I can promise to keep your condition in strictest confidence," I declared one hand to chest and was rewarded with a wide and shining grin.

"You really expect that I will set his smug elegance in the dirt again, " Thalon asked, one hopeful eyebrow raised.

"I do." I picked up his hand, clenching and unclenching the fingers a second time. "You have no tingling or numbness in this limb?"

"No. Just an ache."

This was, I could see, a reluctantly given admission. Elven physiology was in many ways similar to Men, but their bodies were more enduring. Impervious to most hurt. Pain was not something an elf troubled with unless there was clear injury. "We will watch and wait and work on your reflexes. Most likely the sensation will return in the coming days. Willowbark massaged into the muscles can relieve the pain more quickly," I offered, remembering the acute sense of hurt.

He very gently shook his head. "That is not the part that truly pains."

"Where?" I asked immediately.

The grey gaze darkened to a heavy mist. "I have been having headaches."

Serious ones, if they were breaking through the background of the tisanes that Saralinde had prepared. There were several possible culprits for this: the lingering effect of seizure of course, but also pressure of his blood too high. The antidote was well known to have this side effect. A diuretic, such as Hawthorn berry, would bring it down but first I wished to be certain there was no muscle spasm in his neck referring pain up into his skull. "May I?" I asked, gesturing to his neck and shoulders.

"Of course."

I rose, planted my wonky feet quite carefully and swept the sleeves of my blue outer-robe higher on my arms, leaning across and lacing my fingers behind his neck, oddly suddenly conscious of the thinness of my hands, the twisted tendons of my outer fingers.

 _Vanity Théomund?_ They were as they ever were, not normal but skilled enough for my work, and irritated, I shoved the thought aside, prepared to make my assessment, but quite unprepared for what happened next.

As I laid my thumbs aside his cheeks, Thalon gasped and I jerked back.

 _Dabbled light and longing. Green shadows of laughter beneath the trees. Strength as deep as the bones of earth._

I felt his fëa.

Bound to this world-fierce and proud, honest and unwavering, bright as fire: it set my every sense ablaze. Awed me. Shocked me. I knew this, I knew _him_ , was meant to be there in that moment and no other, and the certainty skittered along my veins, sang in my very blood. _Mate._ _Mate. Mate_.

 _Nienna_ , how could this be? I was a Man, and he, Eldar -ancient and noble, a renowned warrior of the house of The Elvenking, and I was not even whole.

And would have less years on Middle-Earth than most.

It was impossible.

Gathering desperately the frayed shreds of my awareness, I dared to look down and found those arresting, eternal eyes gazing upon me with an awareness kin to my own. Stunned and startled, but also: open. Not dark with disgust or even wide with disbelief.

He lifted his shoulders slightly off the bed, spoke my name and reached to take my hand, "Théomund!"

A wave of compassion swept over me.

 _No. By the sacred music, no._

This was a mistake. An error in Vairë's bright weave.

And well-meaning pity would only make it worse.

"Excuse me. I have to go….I..."

 _Have not the strength for this._

Fumbling through instructions to Keillin for Thalon's care, I swiftly fled.

.

* * *

For those who may not have read Welcome to Rivendell, Théomund has a degenerative neuromuscular disease that is slowly weakening his muscles. His feet and hands are twisted cue to the muscle imbalance contracting the tendons. His feet have little feeling, affecting his balance. I am taking the liberty here of assuming Elven medicine includes a knowledge of blood pressure as the Ancient Chinese were said to recognize it as 'hard pulse'. Diuretic is a modern word but I couldn't settle on another.

Thank you all who have so patiently waited for this to update. CP took all the oxygen for too long, but the next update is also done as well. There will be 3 more chapters after that.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a shock of course.

I had no thought that this golden fëa should not be my kindred. A Silvan perhaps, or possibly a Noldo. Not a Sindar, for Legolas was the only one of that line in Eryn Ithilien. And although I knew we had a new Healer in the halls, a man and a son of Gondor's Steward no less, my beleaguered brain did not retrieve it. for though many songs have been sung of the fabled unions of the Eldar and Edain- Idril and Tuor, Lúthien and Beren, Arwen and Elessar—but rarely have they joined. The lives of the First- and Secondborn have entwined for good and ill in Arda but those few fëa–mated have braved peril and suffering, long years of privation, to cleave to the one who made their spirit whole.

I had not met Théomund before-he frequented the evening hall but little and I was often out on patrol—but as that moment stretched thin as gossamer, ringing with heartsong, I had no doubt. The bond was _true_. The thread of deep and pure rightness was unmistakeable. I knew it. Had not felt its like since a young Noldo guard set a Prince of Mirkwood upon his backside in a friendly sparring bout; reached out to help the loser up and changed utterly the course of his life.

The memory is so clear. Amron with his father's silver hair stuck with brittle November leaves, tunic and laces askew, cheeks as sharp as knives. A storm tossing in his gaze but underneath the haughty armour of the exterior, a heart of purest starlight. My fëamate. The thought then was truly terrifying. His frown swiftly melted like snow in the first spring shower and events raced just as fast.

I am quite certain the most frightened I have ever been in my three millennia was standing before my Lord Elrond and his father the Elven-King, hands-clasped and almost vibrating with nervousness Amron, of course, was quite unperturbed by his father's glowering countenance. He faced Thranduil, chin up and shoulders set proudly back.

"I'll not be separated from Thalon. If not here, then I will follow wherever that he will."

That caused a ripple of surprise to run throughout the hall. It was hard to say who was more displeased, his Lord or mine, but in the face of a truebond neither would deny the truth.

Elrond raised one dark eyebrow and folded his arms within his sleeves as he turned to his kingly host. "I have little need of a Princeling in Imladris. Glorfindel is quite enough."

I believe I held my breath. Amron squeezed my hand for reassurance in the now ringing silence of the hall and then there came a truly terrifying development:

Thranduil put off his habitual expression of utter boredom and _smiled_.

"I suppose I can find space for another guard."

With the flick of a royal wrist the ambassade I set out on was inked to a more permanent position. I moved into Amron's rooms, was honoured with a captaincy and became an accepted part of palace life. The 'Prince's ellon' I was called at first, but as decades slipped quickly past the Silvan folk came to know me well. I gained their respect for my battle skills even as I learned to love their ancient forest and sweet voices raised in song. Thranduil and Legolas became as easy with me as Amron, and I was honoured and amazed to have found so close a family. We were happy- truly, deeply. Until the Shadow rose again. Until the cursed day upon Fornost's rolling plains that Angmar came crashing down and I lost him to an Orc's errant parting-shot.

In all the centuries since I had put away these memories. Avoided them. Did not give them life, and yet to do so I had to be not myself. I served my honour brother and my father-King as best as I could. Grieved. Fought battle after battle. Waded through the mired blood of Dol Guldur and Erebor, even Mirkwood at the end, to emerge now honed but hollow. A shell of the ellon that I had been.

And then, into my spare and careful world there came that touch. Ai, its aching gentleness was a shaft of sun in a darkening haze of agony. I was so eager to know its source, to know that fëa, and if _I_ was shocked, one who had known the pull before, how must it be for him? I saw the wonder and the fear within Théomund's wide eyes and my heart went out, remembering my own uncertainty. How must it be for a Man to bond with the Eldar? A thousandfold more startling than simply adjusting to Thranduil's house at the least, and so I said his name (delighting to hear it pass my lips) and reached to touch his hand. Show compassion with my touch.

Sadly that did not help. My speech was still unruly. My words too slow and halting, and so, in compensation, I let my joy and need and urge to help flood out. Perhaps, nay almost certainly, a little strong.

An understandable yet inopportune mistake.

In its wake Théomund took his leave and I, abashed and anxious, waited for a chance to speak again.

It did not come for two full days.

In between I fretted; relieved that the potion helped my head, encouraged to have more feeling in my arm, but worrying. Why had he not come back? Had I so badly frightened him? Was he repulsed by me somehow? There were rare times that one of pair did not return the bond but I had not felt that about him. Not anger or disgust. Only shock and a muddied pulse of fear.

Reluctantly, I screwed up my courage to ask Master Healer Saralinde his whereabouts straight out.

Her auburn brows shot up. "Théomund? He will be back. He has taken some days of leave. Simply needed some time to rest."

 _Ah._ The faintest tightening about her mouth made me feel that somehow there was more but I did not press her. He _had_ worked very hard and so I waited, impatient, filling the dragging hours with simple exercises to improve my strength until on the third morning a sound set my heart fluttering within my chest.

"Saralinde, how fares the Commander?"

It was his voice! I could not hear Saralinde's light reply and so waited with almost coltish excitement, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the blue robe as it arrived outside my door.

I watched and waited but the slow, measured step I recognized went the other way.

A stab of pain that had nothing to do with poisoned swords flared briefly within my chest.

Was Théomund avoiding me? Deliberately leaving my care to others? At first I did not want think it true, but when one spends too much time in enforced idleness, there is leisure to notice things. Even those the size of mumaks.

We had not spoken at all since he came to know _._ Nor had he come to check the notes kept by my bed.

Then yes, avoiding. More shocked and upset at the revelation than I had first hoped. _Give him time Thalon_. The admonition to myself was wise but hardly easy to obey. There was an awareness, a prickling sense of him nearby and so I forced myself to lay back against the pillows and fret more patiently.

I succeeded somewhat until the rudely healthy sunshine of Legolas arrived.

Through the half open door I had a new view: Legolas's bright head inclined gracefully, accepting Saralinde's quick half curtsey; Théomund walking slowly, almost haltingly, toward my Prince, touching one hand to his heart in greeting.

"Ernil, a pleasure to see you here."

"And you, Théo," answered Legolas, smiling in return. He gestured toward my space. "I am here to see my brother. He mentioned he wished to rise. Do we have your leave?"

From my vantage I saw blond brows pull together in a sudden frown. "You will not go far?"

"Just to the river then back for 'second breakfast'."

I shook my head. The Anduin was an hour's ride from our town that lay nestled in Ithilien's southern reach well off the Harad and Pelargir roads, but Théomund was obviously used to Legolas' sense of humour. His pointed look was met by a mock-solemn salute.

"Just to garden then. You have my word."

Legolas may have been only half in jest but in the end neither of us reckoned with reality. The effort to become vertical was taxing. The brief turn about the ward moreso. This valiant first effort merely proved that I had no muscles left.

"Come on Thal, put your thighs into it." Legolas had one arm steady at my waist, the other bracing me from behind. I was not so much walking with support as being dragged bodily across the floor.

I rolled my eyes so hard it felt I might tax them too. "Thank you for that pointer, tôren. I had completely forgotten how to walk."

The tone was sarcastic but actually I was rather worried that I _had_. My legs had the consistency of jelly and after a few dozen feet I was panting with the effort. The proud warrior in me was abashed. The entire ward and one particular Master Healer were witness to my pathetic feat. Assuming that Théomund was watching. I forced myself not to look. "Do you not have some other guard to torture? Maldrin. Or Govon. They must be due."

Legolas blessedly paused to let me catch my breath. "Not one I can so easily best. It is the perfect time to ask you for a foot race. Would you wager your Haradi mare?"

Lalainte, ebon and high-hearted, with nostrils to eat the wind and a gait as smooth as silk, was my pride and joy. A gift from the Emperor for training his personal guard to shoot. "Never!"

He grinned at the fierceness of my growl and mercilessly started us moving once again. This time we wobbled our way across the ward to near the courtyard door. The morning's light was thin and wan, struggling to pierce the grey blanket overhead but still more welcome than the plain walls of my temporary prison. Tomorrow, perhaps, we would make it actually outside. I was eager for it, for the feeling of air and life upon my skin, but just then I really rather needed to sit down.

We turned and gathered energy to make it back. With an effort I pulled myself more upright, snuck an illicit look beyond Legolas' hide and there, in dark indigo and single braid, was Théomund. Perched upon a stool, notionally perusing a copious set of notes but with one eye to our proceedings.

And the faintest small smile of pride upon his handsome features.

 _Manwe's grace_. My heart swelled enough to burst. He was watching. And pleased. Monitoring my adventure even if he did not speak.

I ducked my head back down before he could catch my gaze.

After not too many tortuous minutes we were back where we began and I plummeted back onto the bed, limbs trembling, overtly proud but privately aghast at how weak I truly was. _Nienna_ , how long before I was hale again? A month? Or more? The thought was truly dismaying and Legolas, knowing me better than I knew myself, was trying to distract. Fussing with blankets and pillows, attempting to help but mostly getting in the way of the assistants who fluttered about the bed. It was endearing, and more than made up for his earlier wisecracks, but I said nothing for my head was starting to pound again. Intensely. As if the former host of Mordor was tramping round my skull and soon I was gritting my teeth so hard I thought I might hear them crack.

"Pardon me, Ernil."

A blue sleeve and a cup appeared before nose. And soft grey eyes that narrowed thoughtfully above a worried frown. "Commander? The headache is back again?"

I nodded very, very gently. Legolas looked on in startled surprise. "Théomund! How did you know?"

His mouth twitched wryly. "It is my vocation to notice such things."

A cup was proffered to my unaffected hand and I found myself dazedly looking into those eyes. "Thank you, Master," I whispered.

He nodded slightly. "You must drink it all."

The soft tone was soothing. I reached out and took the cup, and as I did, our fingers brushed just once. Mine were callused by bow and sword. His were thin and smooth, softened by the unguents all the healers used to combat the wear of work. A fleeting thrum of energy spilled down my nerves, stirred another muscle quite unaffected by the headache or the antidote.

 _Nienna_. I was rattled like an untried youth.

I hid my flaming cheeks within the cup. Drinking all the posset down, I carefully willed myself to calm, handed the empty vessel back and laying deeper into the pillows. The mingled scents of athelas and lavender and mint eased into my awareness.

 _"Better?"_

 _"Not yet."_

There was no gain in lying to one's healer. I turned a little, tried to mold the feather-down below my cheek more comfortably and caught Legolas looking back and forth between Théomund and I. His bottom lip was bitten quizzically. There was a line between his brows and I realized in that moment there were two things I was unprepared to face:

Théomund's uncertainty. And Legolas's.

Neither of us had spoken those last words aloud and I had the strangest feeling that my tôren knew.

* * *

Thereafter the rapid recovery of Elvenkind mercifully began to win. I walked more and farther under my own steam. Ventured down the halls to the bathing rooms. Took tea in the burgeoning gardens beside the aspen grove.

As I gained in strength, reassuringly I began to feel more in my affected hand and arm. Théomund had been right in his assessment and I was pleased to find I had to chance to tell him so. We saw a little of each other on each day- at morning and midday rounds, sometimes when I sat in the bright sunshine to take my meals, and so I began to notice things. The subtly strange thinness of his hands. The careful and slightly stiff, almost hauty way he held himself, as if avoiding contact where he could. I began to wonder at this display and thereafter I noticed more. That the assistants hastened to do things for him unasked. That they were quick to bring seats for him to sit. That ewers or any heavy thing was passed to him most slowly and held until certain he had the grip.

There was a difference about him, a standoffishness that I did not understand, but had not the courage to ask about. And so I puzzled, treasuring each brief interaction as the days slipped too swiftly by. Soon there came the morning when I was pronounced hale enough to recuperate at home. The headaches were gone and my speech was clear. My once recalcitrant hand and arm were mostly whole, and so, in an eyeblink the deed was done- I gave heartfelt thanks and brief hugs to all to helped, made Saralinde laugh at my promise to sniff each sword I met for poison, and forced myself to smile at Théomund's polite farewell.

 _Was this to be it?_ I had watched and waited—given him time to adjust to this new thing and now I would hardly see him? The only hint that leave-taking was as hard for him as me was the faintest trembling of those thin fingers has he raised a hand to wave. _Valar_. There was a dull heaviness in my chest that had naught to do with any dosing. I did not know what best to do and so I did what I understood. Followed Legolas to my home, began a regimen of rest and light exercise, worked to regain what I had lost and worried at the stone of my dilemma like a rushing rivulet in spring.

This did not bring enlightenment, only fatigue and gloom, and so knowing that distraction could come with work (even if I was not to have active duty for some weeks yet) I sat in the beaming sun on a handy hay bale and watched the new recruits to take a measure of their progress. They were doing well. Four ellyn and two ellith, grown elflings I knew well from Mirkwood. All keenly copying Captain Govon's defensive stance.

Presently, the solid shape and long chestnut braids of Maldrin my more than able second-in-command, appeared. He had obviously just come from the range for a long bow and quiver were on his back. "Mae govannen Thalon! A blessed thing to see you here."

"And you my friend. A much more salubrious space than four white screens." Maldrin had been one of the first of my troop to visit in the Healing Hall. He had particular responsibility for the soldiers' training, and I knew, and approved, that he had reviewed with all of them the best defense against the type of ambush and poisoning that had struck me down.

We shared the swift hug of friends before I resumed my seat. He leaned against the split rail fence that ringed the practise yard, . "They are shaping up well are they not?" he remarked, nodding to a pair now circling with practise knives.

"Yes. And are a credit to their trainer."

He smiled, flushing a little at the unexpected compliment for I tended to save them for when they meant the most. Beyond grateful that he and Legolas had stepped in to ensure the settlement's protection had not flagged one bit in my absence- I was more than happy to shower _him_ with praise. Legolas, by contrast, needed no more puffing up.

True to form, Maldrin took it modestly. "I cannot take praise for her," he said, gesturing toward a tall, brown-haired elleth. "Caranae's guard is total instinct."

He was right but I did not answer straight away. Away to our left, a sudden flurry of motion caught my eye. A small knot of ellyn and my Prince had come forward to greet a pair of riders glad in green. A man and a woman: the one dark-haired and handsome, the other gold as Yavanna's sun. Mounted on a pair of proud, grey stallions. Surely it was the Steward and his Lady? As I watched, they dismounted and pulled off gloves and cloaks and yes indeed it was Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn, turning all smiles to Legolas, bowing briefly and being greeted with his warm embrace. This was clearly not an official visit. Captain Beregond was not with them and they had no retinue, only a small, unembelished group of welcome met them, and so I surmised their easy journey from their Emyn Arnen home was to see their son. Théomund would be here! Excitedly I scanned the space for a flash of indigo but found it not, at first sagging a little with disappointment but then I found him.

Théomund, long hair unbound and with two temple braids, in breeches and finely embroidered shirt, looking every inch a young Gondor lord, sat a chair behind the welcoming party waiting for formalities to cease.

"Thalon?" Maldrin, puzzled, set a hand upon my arm.

"Just a moment, my friend." I waved it away in hasty acknowledgement, suddenly drawn to the square as if pulled into a river's eddy. _He_ was there. It was a chance to speak. It was—

"Commander Thalon!"

Lord Faramir, a Ranger to the core, had spied my course. He turned and smiled, inclining his dark head to me. I saluted hastily in return. "Forgive me, my Lord. My Lady. I did not mean to intrude." And yet, I had. Legolas was frowning quizzically. Anpher, his secretary who prized decorum above all else, looked anywhere but at me and quickly became entranced by minutiae in the dirt.

 _Valar._ Feeling caught out as an elfling who is somewhere he should not be, I flushed but Éowyn, the ever beauteous lady of Ithilien, was quite unruffled. She turned her sunny smile up to me. "You look well, Commander. I understand you have been hurt."

"I was but am on the mend. And most grateful for your son's skill and speed." Against their will, my eyes slid to the quiet occupant of the chair. His blue-grey gaze was wary but not unfriendly, not discomfited to see me there and a first band of worry unknotted by an inch. There would surely be meals and revelry—even a friendly visit was a cause for celebration—and I, excited by the thought of seeing him in the feasting hall, kept chatting, uncharacteristically so long that Legolas decided to intervene.

"Let us not monopolise Faramir and Éowyn 's time and keep Théomund waiting long. Thalon?" He looked discomfited. As if he could not decide whether to be amused by my odd antics or annoyed. "Come and see me in my study."

I hesitated, feet firmly rooted to the spot. Théomund was there and in that moment I had no wish to be elsewhere but Legolas reached and unobtrusively took me by the elbow. "We shall see Faramir and Éowyn presently again at the daymeal."

Both nodded with alacrity and so I took my leave, reluctantly following my brother toward the small meeting hall that adjoined his study, half of my heart still back behind, the other half now seriously worried I had overstepped.

By the first arch of the colonnade I not resist the urge to look back once.

With the Prince and I no longer the centre of attention, Théomund had risen. He pulled from either side the chair a pair of low wood canes, set his hands upon the rests and moved forward with practised ease. His face was clear and quite untroubled, smiling with such warmth as his parents reached out to enfold him in a slow and carefully delicate embrace.

Understanding finally dawned. _Nienna's tears_. The canes and rolling stool within the ward. The almost halting gait. The way he held himself carefully and apart. It was not aloofness or haughtiness, but balance. And strength, as the warrior in me intrinsically understood. Théomund could not move far without support and without aid, too abrupt a movement would knock him to the ground.

Flys could have settled in my throat.

* * *

All through that day and eve I puzzled, heart heavy, over what I had then seen. That beautiful voice, and fea, and caring spirit were trapped within a body that was what? Broken? Damaged? It looked to be not of a wound but rather something more essential. An accident of birth? A malady? I knew that wasting sicknesses afflicted the children of the Dúnedain, sapped their legs of strength, but it was something Elrond's healing could cure. Was this different? I did not know-I knew little of the ills of men, save that they were not so robust as we.

It seemed cruel that the music should deign he be stricken so.

All through the long afternoon (spent with Anpher reviewing my long delayed reports-never let it be said my Prince was not vindictive) I yearned to know the right of it. To see Theomund and hopefully this time find courage to speak up. But the world conspired otherwise. Reporting lasted until the supper bell. A pleasant evening after in the torchlit hall passed with me seated at the high table but to my consternation as far from Théomund as I could be.

He sat on the left hand of his father, dressed now in a fine tunic of pure blue, hair all unbound and but little less glorious than his lady mother's. Riveting. Stunningly handsome. And miraculously also noticing me. Although I did my best to pay heed to my seatmate, now and then I would feel a prickling at my nape and look up to find his blue-grey gaze. Each time he would quickly look away. Each time I would catch a quickly stifled flash of twining sorrow.

 _Did he regret keeping himself away?_ _Ache for me as I did him?_ A first flicker of real hope made me dizzy, drew me to him as a moth to flame and thought I tried, I failed to keep from staring. Flanked by the Lord and Lady I could see that his smile was hers-wide and free and unaffected, but his brow and that striking narrow, face was of his father's line. Side by side one could see the stamp of Dol Amroth on them both, of Mithrellas and Imrazor, even though his colouring was Rohan fair.

I could also see what I had not before. Masked by a healer's flowing robes was a sharply angled chest and slanting back. A twist that made him sit out of true and with this further knowledge a pit lodged in my stomach. _Did it hurt him? Did he suffer to work even as he cared for others? Who treated muscles that must ache from simply holding still?_

"Commander, how are you? Not overdoing it I hope."

For the second time that day I failed to notice someone arrive. Saralinde, green-eyes shining in the low guttering torchlight, had replaced my seat mate and sat with her deft fingers thoughtfully fingering her cup.

So much for my vaunted soldiering skills. As the embarrassed flush crept up my cheeks I turned and tried to give her all my attention. "No Master Healer, I am being most careful. The only part of me in danger of overuse these days is my backside. Or my tongue."

She smiled. "Formal evenings are not your forte?"

"No. There is Legolas for that. He needs some punishment for his perfection."

She laughed as I had intended and while she sipped from her brimming goblet I wracked my brain for some excuse to bring the conversation around to the question that consumed me. Outside, a summer evening graced with Varda's stars deepened to blue-black. Inside, our harpist pulled back her instrument and began a softly lilting tune: _Ruimenírë_. One of my favourites. About good fellowship and friends and the flame of welcome that burned ever in the Hall of Fire.

As I let the music seep into my bones, I realized that we rarely saw Théomund there. At table, yes, but hardly ever when the evening's song and storytelling began. "It is unusual for the Master to be in the hall so late," I said, nodding down the laden table.

If Saralinde was puzzled by this comment she did not show it. "He retires early. And often chooses to dine within his rooms." She reached for a sweetmeat and took a slow bite of rose-scented cake. "Is there a reason why you asked?"

Was this a healer's natural perceptiveness or I had looked from far from disinterested? What should I say? _Perhaps the truth, Thalon?_ But it felt not right to speak so of one who was just some feet away. "He looks fatigued," I finally settled on for this was quite true: Ithil had barely climbed above the trees and there were dark smudges below Théomund's eyes, a noticeable droop to his thin set shoulders. Had the day's responsibilities left him overtaxed? Had he not slept well?

Saralinde saw my worry and gently shook her head. "You are correct. I urged him to rest before the meal but, of course, he spent every moment catching up. It is rare that the Steward can take so many days for just a social call and Théomund is busy here." She sighed and turned to me, gaze thoughtful and at once apprising. I had the distinct impression she choosing carefully what words to say.

"There is an explanation for it Thalon but it is personal. You must ask that question for yourself."

* * *

Of course in the end I did not.

I was one ellon faced with speaking to one man and yet I could not find the way.

I went back to my talan and began the long convalescence in earnest. The days were filled enough in theory: the camaraderie of the troop, the daily workouts to regain my strength, the oft-needed rest after the mid-day meal, but I felt wrong. Itchy underneath my skin. Unsettled and unhappy. The lingering stiffness was an annoyance and to compound my temper I saw little of Théomund.

The space beneath my heart carried a hollow of need that grew a little more day by day. The dull aching emptiness soon became a burn, fierce and unrelenting, and as it waxed I grew angry with myself. Snappish and short with all around. Barking at younglings and veterans alike. Not fit company for others or even for myself but determined more than ever to not press him any more.

Théomund knew well where I could be found. If the bond was true and he was willing he would seek me out.

Another clutch of days found me alone in my small courtyard. I sat on the curved wood bench, book in hand, trying to focus on my grammar of Sindarin and Haradi-the Emperor's now mostly peaceful lands lay just to the south and we oft met Haradrim trading on the road-but I was not truly concentrating. The night was clear—soft and velvet and sprinkled with the fairest of the evening's stars. A perfect evening to celebrate and out in the main square many voices rose in song. The sound drifted on the wind, sweet and soaring, praising below the Sickle and the Swan our lady Elbereth who sees farther than us all.

For the first time many centuries I felt a tug, a swell of longing to join them. But I did not stir for grief both old and new stopped up my throat.

"I remember the beauty of your voice."

Legolas, by silent ways, had come. He was dressed not as his people's prince but simply as himself; tunic laces loosened, warrior's braids let out. He set a bottle of Thranduil's prized Dorwinion upon the cool stone of the bench and pulled the cork, filling two chased silver goblets. One he raised to Ithil above in toast and the other he passed to me.

"You should be there, my brother, on such a glorious night. Honouring her with your song. Not hiding in the dark."

Ai, I knew it. For long the hard core of anger that fueled my thirsty sword had kept me apart; unwilling to venerate a world that I felt not of, but, in time, that red anger had passed and in its place left pain. And focus. Ruthlessly eschewed those parts of my life that reminded me too much of him, like a youngling closing their eyes as they passed a darkened door. I missed Amron's exuberant, if not always pitch- perfect, tenor. To wish to join again was easy. To actually _do_ it was something else.

I took a bracing gulp. "You know well I have not sung since Amron sought the Halls. I'll not start now."

Legolas sighed softly and sat down beside, crossing his long legs before him and loosely fingering his cup. I noted what I had not at first: both vessels were adorned with a hawthorn tree set with garnet berries and tiny mithril thorns.

The forest's contradiction. Balance and duality found in one everlasting whole. The symbol of his family's house.

Strong, sure fingers traced over the design before he chose to speak. "For so long you have not been living, Thalon, but existing. Doing your best for us but merely flowing unresisting in the stream, ignoring the wonder that lies around. Each meal, and word and song we know is a precious gift. The past for good or ill is not forgotten but should not have too much power in the present. It can blind us to the beauty here." He turned to hold my gaze. "Especially if you have found another love."

The tone was mild but the words made me start straight up. The deep red claret shimmered as it sloshed upon the stone. "No! How-?"

 _Did you know?_ My face must have been a picture for he smiled wistfully and shook his head. "I remember a pair of shocked ellyn who had just wrestled in the dust. He so certain and another overwhelmed by what it might mean, yet still pulled toward my brother like a leaf caught in the river's current." He studied me intently. "I am right am I not?"

It took an act of will to find my tongue. "I have been faithful to him."

He nodded. "I know it. But he released you from your bond."

I shivered as with sudden cold. Yes, he had. Lying there upon that cursed field of sedge and mud, the glow still fading from his eyes. Lifeblood running freely. Amron had whispered to me of love and life and time, and years to be and I, unlike Legolas, had been too angry then to weep. We had won the day—a glorious victory for my Lord Glorfindel- but all of it was as so much dross. Shorn of happiness. Sundered from all that was good.

"I told him he should not."

Legolas' eyes darkened with remembered pain. "But he did for he loved you beyond all the circles of the world and knew what you would do."

 _Stay_.

He knew me well. I, who could have taken ship and waited for his time of cleansing could not abandon my adopted home. For my Father-King to lose his eldest and his queen in the selfsame year was nigh too much to bear and though not an elfling, Legolas had been young as our people reckoned such things. Not yet a Captain. I, his honour-brother, felt honour bound to ease his hurt how ever little that I could. The years afterward fell swiftly-the time of peace was through, and though other ships did sail, there was always another battle. Another troop of Orcs or Spiders to deal with. The Shadow grew. And no ship could come for the Silvan folk I laboured to defend.

"I could not abandon you."

Legolas bit his lip and reached to take my hand, cold though the air about was warm. "I know it and Father and I have been beyond grateful. We have been of like mind, helping to restore these woodlands torn by war, but we also know how much it has cost you. You do not sing. Or dance. Or even walk below the stars, for you are grieved and lonely. It is not what he wished for you."

"No." I shook my head and shrugged. It was a very Silvan thing to consider a lack of song a direst ill. To the Noldor it would be akin to lose joy in craft, in doing with their hands, and I suppose I had done that too. What had filled the flying years? War, for the most part. And preparation for it.

I dropped my head and examined the marks of battle upon my hands. "We do not all of us get what we wish."

"No." A shadow of yearning crossed Legolas' face. He let me go to reach and clasp my shoulder, to stroke my long sable hair in a gesture at once sad and soothing. "Now some ellon has stirred your heart and you are far from overjoyed. Either they do not return it or you are uncertain. Or both. Shall I guess who it could be?"

I laughed, short and sharp, for this would be amusing. There was no way that he could know. I had not spoken Theo's name to him, not sent the formal blooms of apple that signified a courting. Against my better judgement I motioned for him to try.

"Govon?"

"No."

"Maldrin's son?"

"Nay, not ever. He is like my own."

"Listtan, then?"

No and no. I shook my head and Legolas mentioned other guards, all fine, fair ellon, but he was way wide of the mark and yet I had the sense he knew it, was teasing me for my hesitation. His mouth quirked slightly as he spoke. "I am at a loss, tôren, unless you have hidden some exotic traveller in your rooms."

"Saes, no, I am not a squirrel hoarding treasures out of sight. There is none here but you and I."

"You disappoint me."

Against myself I smiled. Ah, but it felt good to be light after so long held too tight. He grinned back and squeezed my shoulder once again and I wondered if he knew, was making me smile to ease the way.

Perhaps, after all, I could take the leap.

Drawing in a deep breath I raised my eyes to his and spoke. "Théomund."

The word hung a while between us. My stomach clenched in fear but his expression was far from shocked; it was reflective, even thoughtful. The cup was steady in his spare hand and his face was soft and unlined by care.

He nodded slowly, never lifting his gaze from mine. "That explains much that I hear."

I sat straighter up. "It does?"

"Saralinde has had a snappish second-in-command also."

 _She has?!_ My heart leapt. Was I not entirely repudiated? Could he feel the longing as much as I? "He… has been upset and uncertain," I stammered. "I do not know if he would ever cleave to me."

Legolas sighed heavily. "You must be careful."

This puzzled me again. Saralinde was not the only one hesitant about Theo. "About what?"

"I do not wish to speak out of turn."

"Why? You are the second to tell me so." Why were those around Théomund concerned? My frustration with the lack of answers took refuge, as it always did, in darker humour. "Has he some egregious, illegal past? A history of stealing? A string of bastards in every town?"

This was ridiculous of course. A son of Gondor's famously honourable Steward was most unlikely to be a rake but I could not hold my tongue. Legolas wisely ignored my crack. "He is different tôren," he said, rubbing his brow unhappily.

"I can see that!" I exclaimed. "And that means I should I have a care?! How? Why? I have seen his frame. And gait. I know there is some malady but Saralinde says I must ask him for myself." The first flush of pique gave way to worry. I shook my head a little mournfully. "I find I do not know how."

Legolas heaved a long slow sigh, swirling the wine slowly in his cup. "That is fair. It his story to tell and Saralinde is a good friend indeed, but I understand your feeling. In Gondor it is no secret. That, perhaps, gives you leave to know." He reached for the bottle and poured another measure; took a bracing draught. "Théomund has a malady from birth. I know some of the details but not all. Faramir and Éowyn were greatly grieved, for it is not a simple static affliction. His muscles are decaying slowly. First his hands and feet, legs and hips. Now his back. It slowly moves to his core and in time it is possible that he will not breathe."

I stared at Legolas horror-struck. "Why, that is…!"

"Cruel? Heart-breaking?" His face was a mask of regret. "Yes. Many such maladies afflict the Secondborn but not the First. He is dying, Thalon. Very, very, very slowly."

I reeled at the import of his words. Dying and weakening steadily? The pain that Théomund must suffer. The grief and fear. "How long?" I asked, struggling to understand. The life of Men to us was short and his would be shorter still. I had just found this precious gift and too soon it could be snatched away.

Legolas shook his head. "Elladan has said there is no certain way to know. For some the weakening is swift. For a lucky few it is quite slow-perhaps two decades less than a man's span. And those of Númenor are blessed with a long and vigorous life for the Edain. He has his father's blood."

I sat in shock. Two decades less than man's span. He might live to sixty years. That was scarce the time to grow a proud sturdy oak or ash. An eyeblink to we who measure life in Ages, for whom the seasons are as ripples in a swiftly running stream.

How could I find him now and know he would be lost untimely? How could I face the certainty of death again? I was not Peredhel. No choice lay before me. I could not die with him and must endure, again, alone.

"I…he…has the most beautiful fëa I have ever known."

I was babbling, words pouring out in anguish, sitting trembling beside my honour-brother who regarded me with not with pity, but certainty. His next words shocked me to my core.

"I know you see the sea's pull within my heart. The tide of it. And the sad changes that girt us round. The seasons and growth here in Ithilien are different than Lorien or the Greenwood. The Rings have left. There is no power to preserve, keep the world we knew while all else flits by, swift and slowing; and we live perhaps now closer to the rhythm of the new Age." He reached to lace his fingers through my own, speaking softer, as if sharing a secret with the night.

"When Aragorn at last lays down his duty and lies forever still and under stone, then I shall build a ship and sail. But for now I tarry here to help rebuild these ravaged forests. Make of them a new home for our folk. So it could be for you. Tarry here in purpose and new life. Bringing joy each day to one who deserves their cup to be ever full, and then, when Théomund too is called to Mandos, leave this Middle-Earth with me and find solace in the Undying Lands."

The world around me staggered.

Could I do this? Could I deliberately cleave to one who would be lost? Suffer that pain again? I, who thought myself courageous, was riven utterly by the choice. To watch one I loved whither swiftly; change inexorably as the forest that sheds it canopy and is remade again. Or walk away and abandon one whom I loved to a fate of suffering and silent hurt.

An arrow of uncertainty pierced my breast. I felt the urge to flee, but then, I hung my shame behind the curtain of my hair. If I felt that way then how should he? Did he not deserve to have support? Be eased of fear and know the solace of a love? And if I who felt the purity of his fëa could not find it in me to try, whom else would make the choice?

My honour-brother brushed my hair back from my now tear-streaked face and saw it-the struggle, the need, the fear, all twirled within the bitter cup. Slowly he reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out a worn but glimmering band of gold and mithril; placed it on my trembling palm and closed his hands over mine.

His fingers were lithe and elegant, warm where they touched my own and far too thin to have ever worn that ring.

I breathed and tried to slow my pounding heart. It was Amron's marriage ring, twin to the one that rested on my sword hand. I had refused it once, unable to countenance having it there, too much a reminder of the gaping loss. But now? To hold it felt so much of a blessing I hardly dared to breathe.

Legolas held my hands close a moment more and then rose and drained his cup. Set it with its mate upon the bench, before walking to the little garden gate. He paused, one hand upon the threshold, tilting his bright head up to the streaming silver light and letting it bathe his face again. And then, silently as he came, walked out into the pellucid night.

His parting words anchored me to the ground.

"You have bravest heart of any ellon I know."  
.

* * *

Thank you so much to those who are following and to Carawyn, Altariel and Willow for their encouragement!


	5. Chapter 5

When first I struggled with the truth I stayed away for three full days.

Playing truant was not something I ever did. Mother had taught me very young not to abuse an excuse I might actually need another day for the most constant thing about my illness was its inconstancy. Glorious good days of energy and limber limbs were inevitably followed by the bad: hours of aching pain and stiffness; fatigue so great even walking from the bed to the garderobe seemed an expedition; shooting arcs of pain nothing could assuage. I learned to never yield to the childish temptation of crying wolf to miss a hated chore, to be honest with my state and the result had served me well. No one made a fuss when I actually asked to be excused.

After bolting from Thalon's beside my request to Saralinde had been pure instinct. I _was_ fatigued. And shocked and panicked. I muttered that my legs were jelly and she at once so concerned, had so swiftly rearranged the days, that I flushed pink with embarrassment. I could almost hear my sister Finduilas's scolding tone. _Shame on you Théomund for fibbing_. It stalked me like a hawk even as I gathered my battered pride and left.

A fine performance for a son of the famously honourable Lord Faramir.

It was not that I did not need the rest. I did. Actually quite desperately. Thirty-six hours straight of healing battle left any man or ellon somewhat overtaxed-let alone one with my malady-and so of course Saralinde accepted the request unquestioning. She bid me not return until _Ormenel_ , promised to faithfully keep me apprised of any changes although I knew there would be none.

Thalon was in good hands. Even if they were not mine.

The first day passed mostly as it should—in slumber, punctuated by brief moments of replenishment. My meals were brought to my rooms to save me walking to the hall-modest plates of lighter fare designed to entice an appetite that drops right through the floor when the fatigue creeps in. It has been ever so. As a child, my mother and our cook would combat these periods by leaving small tempting packets everywhere about our home-the theory seemed to run that subtle proximity would encourage effort (and reduce self-consciousness)- and most of the time this worked. Most. Asking how I was eating came in every letter from my family: straight up from Elboron and Mother; lightly roundabout from Fin and Father; cautiously pointed from Elfwine, my cousin who is all but brother.

Legolas, thank the _Valar_ , assumes I am adult and kept no overt surveillance that I have noted.

The second day passed somewhat more energetically. The ever present jolting nerve pain of the day before was, to my great relief, a little better and so I rose, took off the braces that held my feet true at night, completed the stretches for my twisted back and dressed in simple breeches and a shirt. I left the neckties open for my fingers were still stiff.

With the help of my favourite oakwood canes (carved by Mablung for Mettare last) I made it out into the world. It was sunny and quite fine, the best day of the last several weeks, and I passed the hours in my small grassy refuge with the company of a book. It was easy, straightforward even, but as the shadows lengthened and the sun began to fall westward through the clear bright sky, a sense of disquiet grew.

I was simply taking a needed rest. Not avoiding anyone. Meals on my own saved energy and allowed me more time to recuperate. This was regrouping, not retreating. Certainly nothing to be lingered on. Thalon would make gains each day and did not _need_ me there.

By the third day I had to admit I was in trouble.

There was nothing I could settle to. Not reading. Not extending my already detailed case notes. Not tidying my already spotless space. I began and discarded two letters to Father and one to Elboron. Relabeled my already immaculate personal harvest of healing herbs. Pottered aimlessly about my little garden with a single cane and watering can.

At last, jittery and jumpy underneath my skin, I flopped down on my settee, feeling as if a small, private accusatory cloud was following me around. Thalon was in the healing hall and I, Théomund of Ithilien: Master Healer, inveterate extrovert, a man known for his enthusiasm and exuberance, was hiding from the world.

The guilt was strong. I had always faced life head on. From the time as a lad of ten or so I understood the progressive nature of my condition, I tried to live fearlessly. Centrally to the moment. Reaching out to revel in all the experience life could give. Mother and Father had taught me this, helped me to make a sort of peace with my affliction; striving to not let it interfere more than it must and living life as fully as I could. Every second summer my cousin Elfwine and I had traded homes. In Rohan we would play hide and seek in the long gold corn and get generally under Uncle Éomer's doughty feet. In Emyn Arnen we would tickle the trout in Anduin's rushing streams and swing for hours in a hammock strung from the great Mallorn tree. We were inseparable; so much that for one difficult but engrossing year I followed him to the barracks life in Dol Amroth. If I proved something to myself—that I could be _almost_ like any other lord's son—I also l learned that such extreme effort came at a cost. In pain and dexterity. It seemed to accelerate my decline, and so, at last, I followed my true vocation and for four years lived in Minas Tirith's Healing Hall; honing my chosen craft before Master Varan pronounced that I had swiftly absorbed all that he knew.

Then, dizzyingly, dauntingly, came Rivendell.

I arrived on a high summer day in a carriage escorted by my father and the King and Queen no less, with Lords Elladan and Elrohir standing welcome. Erestor arranged rooms for me to access without too many steps and swiftly I was enfolded into what came to be my second home. The tutelage was the best in Middle-Earth. I gained in knowledge and experience; stuffed an encyclopedia of herb lore into my head and, in time, came to be naturally at ease amongst the Eldar. Some Men found the slower, daily focused rhythm of Elvish life frustrating after a time, but not I. I soaked in what I knew was a rare and precious gift: taking each day for itself. Delighting in the beauty of each sublime sunrise spilling golden down the vale of Bruinen. Nurturing my patients and myself.

At least in hröa and head, if not heart.

Two decades swiftly passed and in all that time, I had no dalliances; no thought at all that I should ever find a mate. As a youth I could spot from a good half mile away the few lasses (and lad or two) in Emyn Arnen that thought to gain favour with my father by courting me. Disinterest was the armour with which I enrobed myself, stiff as my recalcitrant muscles some days, and by the time I came to Eryn Ithilien it was reflexive.

Friendliness and respect I had from all. But love? No. Not in _that_ way. Overtures had long stopped. Now, as the bolt of connection still flickered down my bones and the echo of Thalon's worried voice reverberated, I was confused. Why did I feel so oddly empty in its aftermath? Had my 'armour' walled me off too much? Blocked the good along with the bad and left me unfulfilled?

Once I would have said it was not so, but now- flapping like an unsettled moth about my beloved home- all I had seemed not enough. Arid. Like a painted desert full of sere detail but lacking a needed spring.

 _Why was this so hard to countenance?_ ' _What_ are _you afraid of Théomund?'_ I asked myself but had no answers. Distractedly, I reached for my cup of now stone-cold tea that lay forgotten on the table and swore fit to make a Ranger proud. My faintly shaky fingers had missed the handle, knocked the contents across my notes, and now I had to wobble swiftly and inelegantly for a kitchen cloth, reaching out to chair backs and table tops in lieu of canes, mopping up what I could before I wasted dear bought effort.

 _Valar._ In the quiet aftermath, a long brewing sense of futility bubbled up. _What could such a beautiful ellon want with me_? I retreated to the bath and watched the water lap around, form the mirror I habitually avoided. My breast bone protruded sharply. My back was twisted. My limbs were thin and weak. I touched my lips and held out my hand, watching the twisted smaller fingers shake. _He_ was radiant; all taut planes and smooth angles and ink-dark hair. I was a wreck, a frail shell destined to crumble slowly like a tower battered by the sea.

 _'He said that you were beautiful'_ my perfect memory unhelpfully reminded but that brought another thought _: And what then-if he could get past the obvious? Your body barely functions on some days._ This last was not exactly true but it was the excuse I told myself. It mattered not that he _felt_ right. That 'steadfast' was his father name and was how I knew that he would be.

I couldn't let another in. The risk of rejection was too very great.

Day four I went back to my position and resolved to hold myself apart. I stitched and set; dosed and watched as usual. Felt the ever present tug of the bond but resolutely ignored its aching; shoving it ruthlessly aside as I did my other daily pains. Those I could ignore, but not his presence. I found myself sneaking covert looks; gauging how well he was from brief glances through the door; relieved to see he was gaining remarkably for one who went farther down the Road than any of us should have liked.

When being near him made the pull no worse, and even gave me short bursts of energy, I allowed myself some visiting. Soaking up his gorgeous smile, I would savour the sharp wit that set me smiling against my better judgement. Basked in the silver light of renewed confidence that shone in those stunning eyes.

All innocently, of course.

I thought myself past the worst temptation when he left the Healing Hall. Mother and Father came for a most helpfully distracting weekend and I managed to stare at him at dinner only once. Or twice. Or perhaps half a dozen times. He looked so well with colour in his cheeks-hair shining black as a raven's wing and fine fair skin set off by the high collared, leaf green formal uniform-that I could not tear my gaze away.

'Twas only a hiccup. Or a healer's natural pride in a former patient's blooming health.

Then the gifts began to arrive.

First was a rare species of orchid from Umbar's shore—one whose stamens held a prized healing pollen. When it materialized on my desk I assumed Saralinde had tracked it down and was about to thank her profusely when she arched an eyebrow and smirked, "Someone has an admirer."

 _Surely not?!_ I dissembled quickly but then came the punt of perfect early summer fruit—cloudberries, my favourite and only found with effort on Emyn Arnen's slopes. I wolfed them down in sticky bliss, blushing at the thought of a Commander well familiar with Ithilien's forests. _Thalon? Would he?_ Of course not—he had more important things to than hunt for treats for me-but shortly after an elegantly tooled book of Haradi poetry mysteriously appeared. Nienna's mercy it was beautiful. Soft leather binding. Gilt edged pages. Plates in indigo and pink and tawny gold-all the colours of the desert sands. I, who shared Father's love of glorious words (though not his skill at stringing them) was deeply touched by the sentiment if not the act.

I was being courted.

Thoughtfully. Expertly. And it was all too much.

"This is not right!"

"The translation is substandard?" asked the maddeningly cheery culprit when I accosted him in the barracks office.

"No. Of course not." Behind there was a quiet click as lieutenant Maldrin perspicaciously closed the door. "The Merendel is absolutely perfect, but you can't just give me gifts."

"Why not?"

Thalon carefully set a swan quill back in a pot of ink and held my gaze. His face was serene and set, as if we were but discussing some point of inventory; hair braided back off his face and collar open, exposing the pale hollow at his throat. Idly I noticed the collarbones that had protruded weeks before were muted-he had begun to gain some weight. The healer in me was pleased while the man found them distracting, like an elegant iced sweetcake that one simply has to lick.

 _Now why should I think of_ that _?_

"Because," I murmured when I could unstick my tongue.

Such a brilliant comeback.

I stood and tried to assemble my rattled wits while he arose, walked perfectly easily around the desk and graciously pulled out a chair; holding it steady, patiently waiting for me to decide to sit.

The ghost of a smile upon his lips was almost as mesmerizing as his skin.

I set my canes against the desk and lowered carefully onto the burnished wood, entirely too conscious of his bulk hovering just above. It was warm and sure. Comforting in a way but in another way most perturbing. _Valar._ The distance I had carefully nurtured weeks before seemed to have flown the coop.

All the more reason to get right to the point.

"I am not your paramour," I announced with more certainty than I felt.

Thalon blinked in surprise. Unprepared for such a pointed opening-it _was_ an Elvish trait to never be so blunt except in times of danger- his eyes narrowed, gauging his reply. After a longish moment he settled himself back gently on one corner of the desk, arms crossed, and daring me to demur. "No. But you are my fëa's other half. Do you deny it?"

 _Este_. A direct volley in return. Implacably certain rain-grey eyes pinned me to my seat and made me squirm. He might believe it, but it was all surely some mistake. I took a steadying breath, determined to answer in the affirmative, but what came out was, "No."

His sudden smile could have lit the sun. "Then you must see that I cannot help but love you Théomund." He leaned a little closer, set hands upon his knees , eyes sparkling like the stars. "I am courting you for I would have you in my life."

My heart thumped hard. These were words that any lover longed to hear and I felt them melt, sweet and caramel, into my skin. Dissolving my carefully set resolve. How wondrous would that be? A companion. To share life's hills and valleys. To brighten the lonely hours of the night. A dream, of course but slowly I shook my head. The gift was to be given back. It was the honourable thing to do. "You cannot. It is not right. One such as you cannot cleave to one such as me," I said, pulling the slim volume from my shoulder pack before I could change my mind.

Clouds crossed before the sun. "Why not?" Thalon echoed once again. "What are you but a man? A beautiful one—in heart and sinew and all that you do. I felt it even through the darkness that gathered to take me down." His dark head tilted in puzzlement. "Théomund I say I love you. If you, in return, can say you truly do not love me I shall desist, but I must hear it from your lips."

I opened my mouth to object but the words stopped up my throat. I could not say it. I _wanted_ to see Thalon's smile, to touch his fëa again and know that light and strength. Lean on it. Enfold myself in its warmth.

The book wavered in the air between us, unclaimed.

"Do not do this," I moaned in misery.

Thalon gasped in dismay. He bent to take the volume and set it on the desk before reaching out with strong slender fingers to clasp my own.

I let them for I was even more cowardly than I thought.

"Théo give me a reason why."

"I am not what you need."

"Is that not for me to say?"

"I am mortal."

He snorted. "So I have noticed."

"I am too young."

This last excuse, flimsy as milkweed silk, made an amused eyebrow quirk. "I am still young by my people's reckoning."

"You were born when?"

"When Meneldil was King of Gondor."

The last King of Gondor to be born in Numenor. Three thousand years before, as I, the son of Gondor's Steward, had certain cause to know. I shook my head. "Thus you have seen an Age of leafings and I barely thirty-eight."

His dark brows pulled together in a frown. "Do you not wish to be treated as you deserve Théomund? To be loved and cherished. Honoured in the bright days and deep watches of the night?"

A shudder of need gamboled down my bones. Oh I did, _I did_. But that did not make it right. "Of course, but.." I pulled my hands from his and clasped them tightly in my lap, knuckles white and fingers trembling. Time to face the cold, harsh light of truth. "My life will be shorter even than a normal man's for I am afflicted in a way no Firstborn is. The years will ripple past unending with brief flickers of fallen leaves and quiet snow and so I shall be to you. A fleeting sadness passed. Too quickly seen and gone and barely felt."

Thalon's jaw tightened and he shoulders set right back. ""No. I could never forget you no matter how brief the time. I grieve that this fate has come to you but you are etched within my fëa. What I offer is without condition."

 _Would nothing make him see things as I did?_ I bowed my head and gripped my arms. Reluctantly dragged into the light the stark ugliness of a reality I rarely faced for myself.

Whatever I was, there, trembling in that chair, I would not be in months. Or years.

My voice broke with the pain. "You will be ever so. Unchanging and undying. And I know not how I shall be."

My anguish pierced where anger couldn't. Thalon groaned and sank swiftly to the floor before my feet, swallowing hard around the unpleasant truth. "I know it," he whispered, and his hands that had hovered as if to hold me there or stop time from marching down settled warm upon my knees. "Do not push me away for that. We do not ever know what tune the music shall sing. I would be all that you need for as long as you have."

Tears welled at the corners of my eyes. "I am saving us both from pain."

"Us both?" Slowly he shook his head and then reached up to grasp my shoulders, drawing us up to stand face to face and heart to heart. My stomach twisted into a knot - all too aware of him even as the bond prickled down my skin. _Mate. Mate. Mate_.

 _N._ I would not hurt him so, and even as the thought flicked past he caught it. Held us closer, for though his eyes were ineffably sad, a thread of certainty was in his voice.

"Do not take the choice from me."

Of course what he said was right. We were two souls. I should not decide for him and only for myself. It was simple enough in principle, yet in the face of his determined vow I had not the strength of will to do just that.

The days flew by with us in a strange sort of dance. He would try to not overwhelm me all at once and I would try to not be drawn back again each day; failing utterly; seeking his company with transparent excuses that fooled no one much less myself. Follow-up consults? Why two when four would do? Care for my little plant? Of course he would know it best. Outward all was blithe and giddy, but in unguarded moments a veil of uncertainty still weighed me down.

 _Could he really understand? Could he know how much less I would come to be?_

The world knew something of my secret mood for the whole vale of Anduin cowered under a canopy of imperturbable grey. It was the gate of summer but it could just as well been autumn— cool and rainy, sopping wet and keeping the people grumpily indoors. This state of paused affair lasted until Midsummer's Eve when blessedly the day dawned fine and bright—stunningly so, and the entire village threw itself into celebration. Away in my first home over the hills, the King and Queen would be celebrating with days of formal feasts and dancing, the City adorned with fresh green garlands and the Pelennor's shy primroses, but here in Eryn Ithilien the Silvan folk made lightly merry, remembering the world's joy when Nessa and Tulkas were first wed. There were games and songs. Flowers in abundance. Laughter rippling like the ribbons in each Eldar's hair. Mine was threaded with blue silk and columbine; Thalon's with silver braid and blushing roses.

We sat (beside each other for Arveldir and Legolas could not help conspiring) at the edge of Eryn Ithilien's beech grove and drank _Miruvor_ laced with the first wild strawberries. It was wondrous and quite perfect. Legolas's speech was short. Thalon and I swapped tales of Rivendell: he of Elladan and Elrohir's childish escapades; I of Glorfindel's recent enthusiasm for books (and Erestor). I found myself grinning for the first time in many weeks—all light and gossamer and ignoring for the moment future worries until somewhere between twilight and early eve I gave a mighty yawn.

It was time that I was done. The day's activity would soon catch up and so I took my leave of the Prince and began the long slow walk back to my little house, moving as best I could in the circumstances and chiding myself for delaying.

A shadow separated itself from the night.

"Beautiful ceremony was it not?" asked Thalon, falling in easily at my side. He walked with no trace of hesitation, long limbs swinging easily, matching his pace to mine and swiftly taking my elbow when I stumbled on a rut.

A sudden rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the warm night air descended. "Yes. It was quite wonderful." My agreement was sincere. Legolas had adapted the old ways to the setting perfectly. Instead of the hallowed Greenwood's birch groves and silver moss we had the golden light of beech and sweet incense of pine. New vows to light the once benighted land. The magic of the festivities had jolted me from my wary carefulness but now I needed to regroup.

"How is your hand?" I asked, watching carefully where I stepped, wondering if this escort was Thalon's idea or Legolas's.

He grinned and chuckled low, glancing at me askance. "Can we not speak as other than Healer and his patient?"

The subtle emphasis on 'other' was husky, practically slithering from my head down to my heart. And farther. Was this flirting? I wasn't sure but just the thought of it sent another rush to my wobbly knees. "I am not holding back," I insisted, forcing a smidgeon of distance into my words for it was becoming ridiculously easy to speak with him. "But how is your hand?"

"Still not my own," Thalon huffed, flexing it, watching the fingers slowly close. They were long and slim and quite obviously stronger even if still hobbled.

I wanted them on my skin.

 _Yavanna's grace._ I coughed to hide my blush _._ "Even so much is encouraging."

"To the Ernil perhaps,' he quipped and I could not help twitch my lips into father's wry half-quirk. The friendly rivalry between the Prince and the Commander of his guard took many forms. Archery. Knife sparing. Even arm wrestling when Ithilien's damp spring kept us cooped up inside. Any hint of an advantage would be used to its utmost and was sought eagerly by both.

I stopped and rested one cane against my leg to bow with hand to chest. "As your healer I can promise to keep your condition in strictest confidence," I declared.

A hopeful eyebrow raised. "You really expect that I will set his smug elegance in the dirt again?"

"I do, but start with a light bow first," I cautioned, "that way you will not disturb your draw."

This garnered a look of admiration. "You know arms quite well! Why am I surprised when your father is a noted archer?"

Why indeed, but that was not all of the truth. I had worked to learn a squire's craft. These days I rarely thought much of it, but for some reason I wished for him to know. "I also served a year with Dol Amroth's Knights."

"You did?!" Thalon looked most impressed. "That took some will. Prince Imrahil trained the best of the best."

I flushed at the compliment. Uncle had, and now it was Elphir's turn to follow in his footsteps, train a new generation of Swan Knights to keep a watchful peace. Suddenly I missed Imrahil with sharp and almost breath-taking ache. He would have delighted to see Elves make a home in the south again.

"You have me at a disadvantage," I said. "I know nothing of your family but you know mine quite well."

Thalon grinned. "Lady Finduilas's peregrinations are legendary."

I had to laugh at that. Yes they were. All of Middle-Earth knew the tale of my sister's post in Harad's new built capital; how her sharp sword and even sharper wit had bewitched the Emperor's youngest son. That Arun had defied his father's wrath to follow her back to Ithilien's foreign woods. Now they were married and had a son. It was a marvel to us all.

I came back to my point. "Your family are not here…"

As we walked on and a shadow of old sorrow passed across Thalon's face. "No. My father, Maethor, went west with Lady Celebrian. He was captain of her guard. He could not protect her but he could see her safe to Valinor." He sighed and took a breath. "My mother, Meiloss, lives still in Rivendell."

"Meiloss, I know her!" I did. A graceful, bright-eyed elleth who tended Elrond's vast herb gardens and the stillroom with equal skill. "Her tonics are renowned."

He smiled proudly. "The same. Everything grows high and healthy under her patient care."

"But I thought you were from the Greenwood?!" I blurted, puzzled by the revelation.

"Despite my lack of impulsive gaity?" Thalon chuckled. "Nay, I was born in Rivendell and lived there for many centuries before fate pulled me away. Now my home is where the Ernil is."

"That is.." I began but did not get the chance to finish. Distracted, still thinking on his origins, I had my footing wrong; instead of solidly planted flat, my cane slid in a groove. I overbalanced, swaying suddenly and ankle turning sharply; dreading the inevitable fall to come for tired muscles react too slow. But then a hand light grabbed my back and pulled me up to stand, heart pounding. Breathing hard from fear and something more.

A startling spark, the rush of awareness through us both.

"I am sorry. I try to resist, I do.. but …" What should I say? Thalon had felt it too, and though I wished it otherwise, it was pointless to demur.

His lips pursed into a frown. "Why should you resist? This is new but need not be so uncertain."

 _Truly?_ When I could barely walk without falling down? When I was mortal and he Eldar? When all that lay far down the road was ever-gathering pain?

I shook my head, preparing to object, and incautiously tried another step. It was no more successful than the last. I stumbled, losing both my canes this time and certain I would topple in a heap but swiftly a strong arm caught me about the waist.

"Théomund are you…?"

 _Afflicted?_ Yes and I was also stupid, stupid, stupid. I had walked too far, too long, and to add to the humiliation of my form I was about to fall flat upon my face. Balance requires muscle memory and mine were nigh asleep. What little strength I had was vanishing swiftly like morning's mist before the Sun.

"What do you need?" asked Thalon quickly.

"A seat." I needed to sit to get my strength back, recharge before continuing on, but nothing near was obvious. There were no handy logs or stumps, nor was sitting on the track an option. I was long since I had been able to successfully get up off the ground.

"There is none to be had." Thalon twisted round and back, searching the verge as I had and coming to the same conclusion. He shifted one arm up to my shoulders, the other to my thighs. "May I carry you?"

 _Valar_ , _no_. That I could not resist, but reluctantly, I nodded, for the thought of sprawling flat before him was worse than the alternative. He lifted me up into his arms and carried me, sure and swift, right to the settlement. The torture of it, to be held against his chest and with his breath warm upon my cheek, was mercifully quite short, for his long stride ate up the distance. I directed him past the barracks and storehouses, beyond the Healing Hall to my little house sitting below a low slung flight of green/brown _telain_ ; Eryn Ithilien was not graced with Lorien's mighty trees but some, freed of the need for stone and secrecy, chose this new style in which to live. My space, unlike the others, was of necessity built of stouter wood, well insulated against the cold for with less muscle I felt the weather more. It was bright and spare, and blessedly on ground level so I might avoid the trial of stairs.

There was also a handy bench placed right beside the door.

Thalon set me down like a precious jewel and sat beside as I sagged back, let my head rest against the rough barked planks. "I am sorry," he said. "I talked and kept you standing for far too long."

"No. I am. For everything."

Too tired to speak much more, I sat still and let the pearl white light of moonrise sink in; willing it to revive as it reflected off the petals of my prized moonflowers, glimmered on the water bath I set out for the birds. I remembered another dejected pause, in day not night. When my companion was the King- Aragorn, as I knew him now- content like Thalon to leave me to my thoughts. A friend. As full then of wisdom as a Man could be and utterly certain that adolescent self deserved to try whatever my heart desired.

It felt a little ungrateful to be ignoring that spirit now.

When rest had restored my legs to something less than jelly-like I opened my eyes again. Thalon was there, patient and calm, the line of worry not quite smoothed from his brow. I wondered if he felt the ache of connectedness as I did?

 _'Yes, of course.'_ The answer shimmered in my mind. _'And there is nothing to forgive. The bond is as it is. We cannot change it, but we can accept its gift.'_ He laced his fingers in my near hand. "Théomund you must trust in me with this. I know how unexpected and bewildering it can be."

"You do?"

Did this not mean he had experienced it before? I watched, heart in mouth, as he made a choice and began to speak. "The Ernil, Legolas, and I are sword brothers but also Honour brothers. In Sindarin it can mean several things—close comrades in arms, adopted family - but also that we are family by marriage. His elder brother was my fëa-mate long ago."

A bolt of ugly jealousy shot through my chest before I caught the verb. "Was?"

Thalon looked away to the dark curtain of the forest. "He died. Cut down on Fornost's plain."

I felt appalled at my first reaction. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." He was quiet before turning back again. "It was ten centuries ago. All these long years I never expected my fëa to find another but it has."

So it was as unexpected for him as me. That was oddly comforting but still I puzzled at the how. Fëa-mates were for life and Thalon, as I had ensured, was most assuredly not dead. "Will you not find him again in Aman?"

"No. He released me from our bond for he knew I would remain. Perhaps he saw what was to come." His voice was grave but he squeezed my hand, as if drawing strength from the thread that we both felt. "I know the rightness of it. I was shocked at first. And worried. For you and for what Legolas might think, but he does not mind. It was he that made me see."

Incredible. An ellon once mated to an Elven prince was now joined with me. And with his brother's blessing. I sat and wondered but the pull of him was warring with the need for sleep. Shakily I pulled loose my hand, gathered my canes and rose. If I did not reach my bed before long he would be carrying me again.

At the pale carved door, I turned the latch and pushed it slowly wide, standing transfixed on the threshold by the sight of him, all dark and ivory and worried by my silence.

"You will be well now?" He hovered at the door and inclined his head, and as he did, the evening's ornament caught the light.

I wanted to pluck a rose but dared not balance with one stick. "Yes, thank you. Once I sleep round a night. Or day," I answered ruefully. "Don't you see? This is why I am not for you."

"No." His denial was implacable as the sea. "It matters not. There is nothing for you to do but settle in your heart. It is done. Vairë's loom has twinned both our threads." He searched my face, reached to right a blue-white petal that had fallen askew. "I know it. And you _are_ beautiful. A shining, caring, gorgeous man."

"Mishapen."

There. I said it. My deepest fear but still he, brave and steadfast, was not dissuaded. He took a step and closed the breach between us, rested a hand upon my chest. Felt the sharp ridge of my twisted bones underneath and the wild fluttering of my heart. "No. Every part of you is beautiful."

Both of us leaned in. I felt the moment poised, new born and shy, and below his touch I was briefly unafraid. Contemplating the fineness of his lips. "I. I am not.. I have no experience…"

His eyes grew puzzled. "With an Ellon or Man?"

"Anyone."

He made a small sound of regret and drew closer still. Waiting. My eyes raced to his face and they filled with embarrassment and more unworded apologies. I felt the intimacy of our position. The warm breath from his lips. The lightness of his fingertips. His handsome face was all planes and hollows painted by white starlight. We were so close a sudden gust of wind mingled our lose strands and ribbons. Blue and white. And black and gold. I wanted to laugh—the story of my father upon Minas Tirith's heights was legend but this was not that ravaged battlement.

And I did not have the courage to kiss the one I loved.

I stopped, heart breaking, at war within myself, and Thalon saw it. He backed away a pace, softly pressed the kiss instead to my trembling palm.

"I would not for all of Arda's music have you so grieved at this. Seek me out when you are ready."


End file.
